9 <2> THE UNTIMELY DEMISE OF RAY PLOTE Later that night after the dishes were washed and the garbage taken out, Lucy and the Beck's natural daughter retired to their shared bedroom. She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. “DON’T!” she said, and wrenched her wrist from his retaining hand. Then she shrugged. She was new, unlike any other woman he had met in all his wide travel. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. The opiate has done its duty. A neighbor stopped by as the day wore on, causing her to duck and cower as he rang the doorbell over and over. Still, in spite of her glances and gestures, Mr. Ennison stood by her side.
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